


Chosen

by days4daisy



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: Aliens, Mind Control, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 03, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 01:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12121368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “Remember,” they tell him. “You're ours,” they tell him.





	Chosen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanwenmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwenmc/gifts).



The wall is blood red and throbs like an open heart.

Three can’t save the girl. She’s strapped to an exam chair, fear black in her eyes. “It’s too late,” she says, before the oil explodes from her mouth. It cakes his face and slithers under his clothes. He can't get away. He can't make it stop. Its grip is too tight, like the coil of a snake. He can't breathe. He can't run.

Three shoots awake in bed. His heart is pounding. He's breathing fast. He’s broken out in a sweat. And he’s hard as a goddamn rock.

***

Three has been here before - the blood red wall, its pulsing center. He knows this place and the voices in his head. They’re taunting him; low, lazy purrs.

Three fires at the void. His bullets split it open and bury deep inside. Like he's fucking them over.  _Fair_ , he thinks.

A chorus of voices chortle in his head.  _Fair_ , they agree.

Nerves claw at his chest. Why is it fair? What did they do to him?

Pain. Sudden, nuclear. Three paws weakly at the ground, trying to push himself up. He has to find Two and Six. They need to get out of here. They’re coming. There's no time, no one can stop them, they need to go, they’re _coming_ …

Three can’t move. He can't do anything.

***

“Hey…” Six rises warily.

Three doesn’t need coaxing; he's too empty, too full. One nudge from the guards, and he’s shuffled far enough inside for the cell door to shut behind him.

Three sways on his feet, and Six is on him fast. Hulk arms support him like he's had ten too many. “You ok?” Six steers Three to the metal shelf-bench built into the wall. It’s the only feature of the cell, gray and drab on all sides.

Three moves where he’s directed, zombie steps on steel grate floors. He sinks onto the seat, wincing. Six sits beside him.

Three wants to tell him to fuck off, but he can’t manage it. They’re in his head, they’re everywhere. Laughter shivers through his bones. _He's a brute,_ they say, _but useful. So useful to so many._

“What'd did they do to you?” Six asks, concern cut deep on his brow.

Three smiles abruptly. “I’m fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Black chuckles through his veins. They're happy with him. He's still useful.

***

Three can’t remember how they came to him the first time. Was it like this?

He’s standing in the mess, but something's wrong with the lights. It's like the main engines cut off and emergency backup is online. It gives the room a blueish cast, shadowed like he’s underwater.

They’re standing all around him. Five. Six. Two. The Android. But their eyes are all wrong, too direct and interested. A little haughty, frankly, like they think they’re better than him. No surprise there, big bad aliens and all.

Three would have killed the entire crew if they hadn’t gotten the black oil out in time. Would have offed himself too, once they got sick of wearing him like a cheap suit. They wanted to scare him back at Dwarf Star. Take him over. Use him up, no fucks given about the scraps. What do they want from him now?

“You don’t want us like this.” The mouths of his crew move, but it sure as hell isn’t them.

“Damn right I don't want you,” Three mutters. “Get out of my head. Now.”

“We like your head,” they say. “It’s useful,” they say.

“Useful for what?”

The faces he knows melt away like hot wax. Skin and fabric, hair and blood. All that’s left are four distinct smears of shadow. They spill into each other, a deep pool bright with life.

Three pulls Lulu and Pip from their holsters. A second later, he’s on his knees. His head. _Pain_. “We’re part of you,” they say, like he's a kid that needs chiding.

The pain is incredible, like Three's worst migraine on speed. Nausea rolls through his gut. Fire stabs between his eyes.

They coax his hands away and force him to see them: a cloud of smoke as real as himself. Fear blindsides Three like a ship dropping out of FTL. His guns and fists are no good here. This is a whole new level of fucked up, even for the Raza. He’s got nothing that can beat them, nowhere to run.

“You remember now, don’t you? The first time we met.”

Three was on an examination table at Dwarf Star. That son of a bitch Rook wheeled in a metal box. Three thought he could handle whatever the bastard threw his way. He survived Hyperion-8, he knows torture. What could Rook try on Three that he hadn't seen before?

Then, the black oil slammed against the wall of the box.

“Stop,” Three says, but it’s useless. His wrists are pinned to the wall, metal hard on his spine. “ _Stop._ ” Three doesn’t want them in his head. He won’t hurt the crew, not again.

“You will,” they say. “But not yet,” they say.

“Don’t-” Three tries, but they are a noose around his neck. He hacks out protests and wheezed indignation. They pry at his lips like skin overcooked; examining, measuring.

A sudden rush floods Three's mouth, liquid and substance together. He’s drowning and choking, sputtering around them. Jet black and shining, they spill across his tongue. He gags and gasps. They dig their way deeper. Three's head knocks against the wall, and tears sting his eyes.

Three needs to get out of here. Out of his own head, off Nova 17. He needs to wake up. He needs to find Two and Six. This isn’t real. It’s all in his head, they’re in his brain, he needs to go, he needs to go _now_ -

“Relax,” they say. “You're still useful,” they say. Three is plastered to the ground, limbs too heavy to move. The loop around his neck tightens, and spots swim in front of his eyes. His body feels fuzzy. His vision is off.

They splay down his arms and lasso around his torso. Three's shout loses its force behind the weight in his mouth. His tongue prickles like it’s not one but millions in his mouth. Three gags and moans.

He feels the weight of them against his skin. They're under his clothes, sliding up his back like flattened hands.

He sputters at sudden pain through his legs. They’re wrapped around his knees and sliding up the pants seams. Black slithers up his crotch. Three jerks and hisses, and they laugh in return. “Careful,” they say. “Jumpy,” they say.

Three would show them jumpy if he had his damn guns. If he wasn’t trapped in his own head. If he could get up and _do something_.

He can’t, though. He’s got no plan. The thought terrifies Three. He always has a plan. Not always _good ones_ , but they're something.

They pry his legs further apart, like vines growing up his thighs. The tip of their touch traces his pants' zipper. It’s a hard, solid presence. Against Three's will, his face warms. It’s a shock, unwanted, clenching tight in his chest.

Three struggles. He may not have a shot in hell, but he has to fight. He can't just sit here! He wriggles and pushes at his black oil chains. It’s like trying to lift a boulder. He screams in anger and fights with all he has.

Three hears a sigh, a sudden exhale by many. Then, his head cracks against the wall. Three moans and slacks, vision dancing drunkenly.

They don't give a shit. The arm across his throat pulls tight. Three turns red, he thrashes. His lungs are like knives. He coughs, body heavy. He needs to wake up. This is all in his head. He needs to wake up!

The presence on his tongue laps at the roof of his mouth. Three feels them slither down his chest, a long snake curled under his shirt. They follow the line of his chest, the hair on his belly, down to where his clothes...end. Skin is bared where his pants and underwear once were.

Three shudders at the touch that winds around his cock. It’s gentle attention, as soft and warm as a hand. They twist around his cock, squeezing encouragment. “Good,” they tell each other. “Make him like it,” they tell each other. Three's offense is muffled by the limb tonguing his mouth.

Their arm expands, a sleeve of black around his shaft. Three shivers against the wall. Humiliated, he responds. His cock starts to throb. His breaths begin to shake.

He watches, mortified, as they smother him. His pink, thickened shaft is engulfed by their grip of oil. They urge him until until his gut is hot with need and fury. His face is burning. He struggles weakly, pulling against the coils purring around his arms.

The touch around him shifts and slivers to a gentle tip. A feather-light point coils up the crown of his shaft and licks at the slit like the littlest of tongues. Three jumps, startled. It teases around the rim of the hole and it presses in, it’s _in_ him. They expand in his mouth, pulling his lips wider. His stomach convulses, and a shudder rolls down his spine.

The little tip inside his cock fucks in and out. He thrashes, crying out. Furious and embarrassed, the answering wet of his own precum dribbles into the oil.

“More,” they tell each other. “He wants more,” they tell each other.

Three doesn’t want more. He sputters and squirms violently at the new touch that slides down his balls. It crosses his scrotum and curls around his asshole. He tenses instinctively, there’s no fucking way.

Abruptly, the pressure eases from his mouth. The limb peels back his lips and draws across his face. He’s wet with his own saliva, his own spit dribbling down his chin.

“No,” Three croaks. His mouth, stuffed for so long, feels empty now. Pressure builds between Three's legs. He scrambles against the wall. “No- ah!”

It’s in him, big and smooth. A gentle slickness that pulses inside. They pull his legs wider; they're _everywhere_. “Get the fuck out,” Three gasps. His voice is shaking, cock thick and red.

They ignore him. They take more. They make it soft and sweet. They ease him open and scissor inside him like two fingers made of lube. A stab of pleasure cuts up to his groin. Three moans against his will.

They don’t care. They drag across his swollen mouth and tighten around his cock. They loop around his balls and pulse thicker inside him.

Three's heart pounds in his chest, and he fights against the rock of his hips. They’re filling him so deep, like they’d get into his bloodstream if they could. Maybe they're already there.

The limb at Three's lips takes advantage of his shock. Three groans when it pushes back into his mouth. A shock of warmth goes through him, and the world tilts and fogs.

“Nnn,” he forces out as the arm slithers deeper. It dips in and out, fucking his mouth. The perfect pressure on his tongue, like they know how much he loves getting on his knees and sucking a fat one.

They’re in his head, of course they know. And they know just how to fuck him, how to shift and angle to strike that spot. They're the perfect girth, stretching his asshole just enough. Three shakes his head furiously, but he can’t stop the whimper. His cock is wet with his own need, pumped tight in their grip.

Three is angry - no, he’s _pissed off_. He doesn’t care who these bastards are, when he’s back in his right mind he’s going to smoke them. They’re going to wish they never opened that goddamn red door.

Three is too warm, too full. He can’t twitch without the limb inside fucking him deeper, the fist around his cock tightening, or the arm in his mouth scraping his throat. Tentacles lace around his arms and legs and twist like twine over his fingers. A tongue of oil sucks the flat of his throat.

 _Don’t do this,_ Three thinks. He has no idea if he’s talking to himself or them. It doesn't matter. Neither listens.

Everything tightens and pulses and shivers. They whisper to him. They throb around him. It's too much, too good, they know him too well. Three spasms under them, mind blanking out.

He loses track of himself and how long they milk him. His orgasm drags on forever. They won't let it be over.

Everything is going black, he’s limp in their arms. But they’re still draining him, pulsing hot inside. He’s spasming. Still coming. Maybe building back up. Maybe dragged out again.

Three whimpers, he’s done, he wants to stop. It’s too good, too much. He’s caked in his own cum, sweating and splotched red. But he’s still jerking forward, hips pumping, spasming, dry spurting. Three is blacking out. He can’t take it.

“Remember,” they tell him. “You're ours,” they tell him.

***

When Three wakes up, he’s alone on the floor.

The wall is blood red and throbs like an open heart. He’s sore all over, and they’re laughing in his head.

Three cocks his head and blinks at the void. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

For a long time, they don’t answer, but he can tell that they're pleased with him. He's still useful, to so many.

* The End *


End file.
